Green Beer Blues
by preachersgal
Summary: On St. Patrick's Day, Clay Morrow pays a visit to a woman from his past.


_**Green Beer Blues**_

_Disclaimer: Sons of Anarchy and their characters are owned by Kurt Sutter, Sutter Ink and FX Networks. The fics posted here are works of fan fiction. No profit is being made._

[Clay/OFC]

St. Patrick's Day and again Clay Morrow found himself in the little Irish pub in Alameda, California. It was the same pub he was drawn to every March 17th. At least every St. Patty's day since he'd married Gemma.

Clay took a seat at the bar. It was late, time for last call and most of the patrons had already departed.

She was working behind the bar just as she'd been doing when they first met. He watched how she moved; the way she flung her long red hair back over her shoulder as she laughed at some remark a patron had made. She was still smiling when she caught sight of him at the other end of the bar.

Filling a mug with green beer, she moved down the bar and placed the glass before him.

"It's late. I didn't think you'd be coming this year," she said.

He smirked, "Have I ever not shown up?" He lifted his beer and took a long swallow.

She pulled a rag from her apron and began wiping down the bar. "No, that's true enough. You come every year. And every year you sit here and tell me your troubles." She watched him for a minute and then asked, "So what does she think – that you're on a run?"

"Yeah." He set the mug down and began to rub his right hand.

"What does the doctor say?"

"Same thing he says every damn time I see him. Not improving."

The last patron in the pub passed behind Clay and called, "Night, Shauna."

"Good night, Michael," Shauna replied. She waited until the door had closed behind the man named Michael and said, "I heard about Donna."

Clay nodded.

"How is Opie holding up?" She asked.

He shrugged, "As well as can be expected."

She sighed, "Well, finish your beer. I've got to lock up."

She moved around the pub, checking the doors and turning out lights. Grabbing up a tray, she bussed the last booth where several half empty mugs remained and wiped off the table. She took the tray into the kitchen. Clay could hear the soft murmur of voices and then Shauna came back into the main part of the pub, removing her apron and storing it under the bar.

She moved around the bar and took a seat on the stool beside Clay.

"You know, Clay, it's been almost fourteen years. It's not like you have to come up here and check on me any longer. Believe it or not, I'm doing just fine," Shauna said.

He took a last swallow of beer. Setting the mug down he replied, "Ever think that maybe I come up here because I want to see you?"

She chuckled. "If that's true, would you care to explain to me why it is that you divorced me and married Gemma?"

"Sometimes I wonder that myself."

"I doubt that. You never do anything without a reason."

"So why do you think I come up here?"

"Truthfully?" She asked. He nodded and she said, "I think it's to ease your guilt."

"Bull shit."

"It's some kinda shit, that's for sure."

"I don't know why I put myself through this."

Shauna laughed. "Because you just can't let go, Clay."

"Now that's really bull shit," he remarked.

"Is it? Or is it the truth?"

He let out a breath and shook his head.

She smiled and stood. "Face it, Clay; we get along better now with our once-a-year affair than we ever did when we were married."

He stood and looked down at her, "And why do you think that is?"

She reached up and touched his cheek. "It's an escape. We can forget about everything. No responsibilities; no nagging spouses; it's like telling the world to go to hell."

"Maybe." He leaned down and kissed her.

She smiled as he drew back from the kiss. "Besides. I'm the best piece of ass you ever had in your life."

Clay laughed out loud. He wrapped his arm around his ex-wife and they left the pub. Their destination would be her small seaside cottage that sat right on the island, which was in walking distance from the pub.

Shauna knew he'd spend the night. They'd make love and when she woke in the morning, he'd most likely be gone. At least until next Saint Patrick's Day . . . or death. Whichever came first.

~END~


End file.
